


hints for the taking

by renaissance



Series: R/S 24-Hour Challenge [5]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bad Decisions, First War with Voldemort, M/M, Meet the Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-03
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-10-03 14:01:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17285408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/renaissance/pseuds/renaissance
Summary: Sirius invites Remus to a family dinner. Luck is not on his side.





	hints for the taking

**Author's Note:**

> for chromat1cs' fantastic "clue" prompt. i chose to use the dining room, the knife (let's ignore that i play a little bit of knifey-spoony with the central utensil, hmm?), and peacock. also, since we weren't allowed to use the words white, green, and scarlet, i made myself a couple of occasions where i could talk around them, just for funsies. i hope you like my take on the prompt!
> 
> this is set in an au where sirius never leaves home, and instead sticks around with the family long enough to get his inheritance at 17.
> 
> content warnings for purebloods being purebloods, and also some kind of graphic/gory descriptions of food.

Muggles had this word: _miracle_. They got it from religion and they said it when something unlikely and sort of magical happened to them. Sirius had read a little about Muggle miracles and most of them could, in fact, be explained by magic. Sirius liked reading about this sort of thing. Sometimes he left his Muggle studies textbooks lying about the house; his parents, tenacious, always had a house elf throw them out. They thought Sirius would come around.

It was a miracle he hadn’t been disowned yet. The word was meaningless, but that didn’t stop wizards from using it. They used it to mean: an extraordinary stroke of luck. Sirius didn’t like that, either. Luck was something you could brew in a cauldron. Why should he leave anything to chance? He was in his seventh year now, and on the other side of it there was war. He didn’t want to be in the sort of position where he had to spy on his parents. Not because he held any sympathy for them; because once he was on the other side, he wouldn’t want to go back. Through Dumbledore, he and the other Marauders had made contact with the Order. He’d spoken to a couple of them, and they’d all said the same thing: they’ll love you, a man on the inside.

Sirius wasn’t _trying_ to get himself disowned. But if that’s what ended up happening… well, he wouldn’t say no. He had somewhere to go. Some _one_ to go with.

“Thanks for coming,” he said to Remus. They were hiding around the corner from the dining room, before going in for the evening meal. Orion and Walburga and Regulus would already be in there. “I mean, you’ll have to meet them eventually. At our wedding.”

“We’re not getting married,” Remus said, as he always did, when Sirius made that joke. They weren’t even a couple, though not for want of trying on Sirius’ part.

And there was no way it would happen if Sirius was stuck coming home to this every summer and Michaelmas. It was winter now, their last before they’d graduate, and Sirius had pulled a few strings to have a friend visit for a day or two. This was a big deal: they were at the country manor, not the London townhouse. James had visited before, of course, but James was from a respectable pureblood family and, though he was new money, Sirius’ parents begrudgingly respected him. Remus was no money, halfblood, and a werewolf—which Sirius’ parents didn’t know, but they’d certainly look at him and take note of his shabby clothes, his lacklustre manners, his provincial Welsh accent.

Sirius didn’t mind any of these things. In fact he loved them. But his parents would not—Regulus was another matter; one he would deal with later—and that was what mattered tonight.

“You’re right,” Sirius said. “Anyway, I hope they won’t come to the wedding.” At the look on Remus’ face, he said, “We’ll do dinner first. Then we can talk about it.”

Sirius wished he didn’t have such a reputation as a joker; he wanted Remus to know he was absolutely serious. James was talking about marrying Lily, and they’d only been together a month. Sirius thought it would be a right lark if they all got married together. He and James could be each other’s best men. Peter could be their ring bearer.

There was some small hope: Remus took Sirius’ hand in his and squeezed it. “I’m glad I can be here for you,” he said. “But I need you to look out for me, too.”

“Naturally.” That was second nature for Sirius.

Remus let go of Sirius’ hand, and Sirius used it to push open the heavy black walnut door. The dining room curtains were drawn—heavy, emerald cloth—and the space was lit by candles around the walls and along the table. Either side of the first two courses, already laid out there were five places set, two empty and, thankfully, side-by-side. Potato and leek soup with chunks of speck floating in it, in low bowls and placed one by each setting. A roast peacock, yet to be carved, resting on a large celadon dish and ringed by roast root vegetables, slices of lemon, and sprigs of curled parsley. Vivid, sanguine cherry sauce in low pitchers. Vases of dying, cobwebby gardenias, for misguided show.

“You’re late,” Walburga said, inclining her head. “Sit.”

“Aren’t you going to introduce yourselves?” Sirius said. He pulled out the chair for Remus, who averted his eyes and smiled as he took it. “Must I do everything around here?”

Regulus said, “We’ve met.”

“Small talk,” Orion said, “is a waste of breath.”

The first course was soup, but already the knives were out.

Sirius sat; to his left, he saw Remus’ right hand hovering over the spoons, unsure which to take. The others had already started eating, and the scrape of cutlery was loud enough to cover Sirius whispering, “Start from the outside.”

Remus nodded his thanks. He was biting his lip, which Sirius thought was particularly attractive, and exceedingly unfair to inflict on him over a formal dinner.

Regulus was across the table from them, over the other side of the peacock. He watched Remus lazily, judging. This was nothing compared to the cruel stares his parents were levelling in Remus’ direction, watching the way he scooped soup from the centre of the bowl and pushed it hastily between his lips, leaving a trail of thin broth at the corner of his mouth. Sirius wondered, if he stared at the corner of Remus’ lips long enough, would Remus get the message? But Remus didn’t need anyone else staring at him right now.

“Lupin, was it?” Walburga asked.

“Small talk,” Orion said under his breath—it was hard to hear someone from the other end of the long table.

Remus looked between them, before settling on the correct answer: it was more important to answer Walburga’s question. “Yes, that’s right. Remus Lupin.”

Oh, Remus, Sirius thought, she didn’t care about his first name.

“I’ve heard the name Lupin. Where?”

“Ministry,” Orion said. Sirius looked at him, surprised. “Had that slip-up with Greyback some years ago.”

“Of course,” Walburga said. “Thought the poor man was a _werewolf_ , can you imagine?” She turned to Remus. “You wouldn’t know. This is all before your time. Greyback is an acquaintance of ours. A decent sort.”

Remus put down his spoon. His eyes were glued to his bowl. “I didn’t know.”

This wasn’t how Sirius had expected this to go. He had meant to be leading _himself_ into the line of fire for associating with Remus, not forcing Remus into an interrogation—though, in retrospect, he could see where the wires had become crossed.

“I hope you’re not thinking of following your father into the Ministry,” Walburga said warningly. “So declassé.”

Sirius answered for him: “Actually, Remus and I are going to travel the world after we graduate. I’ll use my inheritance to support our lavish lifestyle, while we both lounge about and make nothing of ourselves.”

This was such a colossal lie that Sirius was surprised anyone reacted at all, even with stunned silence. Sirius and Remus were destined directly for the Order, after they graduated. That was making something of your life. The only truth was that Sirius would use his inheritance to support the two of them. He had stuck it out with his family long enough to turn seventeen and transfer the money to his own name. Remus knew about the money; Sirius had yet to tell him that at least half the purpose of this was so that Remus had someone looking after him, now that his mum was gone. The other half was money for their wedding, which Remus _was_ aware of, though he refused to take it seriously.

“I see,” Walburga said at last.

These two words were delivered with such ice clinging to their edges that the atmosphere of the room froze immediately, and the rest of the first course was eaten in silence. Occasionally, Remus would shoot glances at Sirius, and Sirius would smile at him, though Remus never smiled back. Sirius felt bad, but it was only one night. Remus surely understood how much it meant to Sirius that he was allowed to play a part in fraying what was left of the ties between Sirius and his family.

When everyone had finished eating, and no sooner, the first course disappeared. A house elf arrived to carve the peacock, serving thick slices and vegetables to everyone. The pitchers went around; Sirius poured a blood spill of cherry sauce across his plate, and then passed it on to Remus, who did the same. Remus remembered to start from the outside with his cutlery. He stabbed his fork into the flesh and the sauce pooled around its tines, visceral. He cut a thin groove through it with his knife.

“This is an awfully large turkey,” Remus said, leaning over to Sirius. He laughed nervously. “Do you use spells to get them that big?”

Unfortunately, Regulus heard them. “It’s a peacock. Didn’t you see them on the grounds, on your way in? We hunt them for game.” His mouth twisted cruelly. “We kill them with the unforgivable.”

All the colour drained from Remus’ face, leaving him the colour of chalk. His fingers tightened around the knife he was holding.

“Don’t be gauche, Regulus, say the name,” Orion said. “ _Avada_ —”

The second word was drowned by the sound of wood scraping across wood, the legs of Remus’ chair dragging against the floor as he pulled back from the table. His fork remained skewered into the peacock, the knife clutched in his hand. “Excuse me,” he said. “I am quite unwell.”

He left, and Sirius followed. That’d show his parents—nothing like an open display of caring for someone else over them to say, _disown me!_

The candles in the hallway outside the dining room had all guttered out; someone had left a window open and snow had blown in, dotting the floor with crystal-bright ice in the light of a half-moon. Remus was running to the front door, though his clothes were all upstairs in Sirius’ room. He couldn’t go out there in this weather. Sirius grabbed his wrist, and Remus turned.

He was holding the knife. He brandished it in Sirius’ face for half a second before realising what he was doing, and lowering his arm.

“Fuck,” Remus said. He let Sirius keep his grip on his wrist, and glared at the knife: silver, ebony handle inlaid with mother of pearl, glinting. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m the one who should be apologising,” Sirius said. “I let you into the snakepit.”

Remus looked up to glower at him. “You were using me. To make your parents hate me just that little bit more.”

No point lying about it. “Yeah.”

“Don’t they hate you enough as it is?”

Sirius didn’t know how to answer that. He supposed they did. But for all that, he was still the heir. They had let him stay around from the moment he was sorted into Gryffindor to when he’d claimed his inheritance. He had always wondered how long until his parents gave up thinking he’d turn back to their horrible side.

“I shouldn’t have tried to expedite the process,” he admitted.

Remus didn’t quite smile, but he looked happy enough with that. Teasingly, he said, “Now, if you’d invited me because you wanted to get them used to the idea of the two of us together…”

“Hey!” Sirius grabbed Remus’ other wrist. The knife stuck out between them. “I thought you didn’t want to marry me.”

“I know you’re only joking, and I _do_ want to help you get away from your family, but I don’t think over dinner was the right way to go about it.” Remus sighed. “Right now I feel like I would do just about anything to piss them off.”

“Then let’s get married,” Sirius said. “I wasn’t joking. I’m mad about you.”

Maybe it was only the shifting light as the curtains blew, but Remus swore he saw something change momentarily in Remus’ face. Did he get it now? Sirius was the idiot here, for turning everything into a joke, but Remus still hadn’t pushed him away.

“Let’s not be hasty,” Remus said, leaning in, laughing. “At least kiss me first, you knob.”

The knife clattered to the floor between them. Sirius obliged.


End file.
